The Boost Up

Please stop over and wish Pia a happy bloggiversary. I'm checking with Miss Manners right now to see what the appropriate gift is for the 3rd bloggiversary.

Summer has been forcing my hand lately, off the track and into the water. I only went running two nights last week, and spent most of the weekend not very far from the cool relief of H2O. I never remember us having this many 100+ degree days in one year.

I went swimming at my sister's this afternoon. While that was mostly uneventful, there was one noteworthy event. We were floating around and out of the blue she asked, "Do you ever watch Scott Baio Is 45 & Single?"

Sigh. What a proud moment in the life of a big brother. I'm not ashamed to admit I nearly became emotional. Just thinking for all the mistakes I've made, I must have done something right, you know? *sniff*

Saturday, Little Joe and I spent all day at my friend Jamie's house on the lake. Ten hours of swimming, boating, eating, reapplying sunscreen, repeat.

Also, I encountered a girl there who said she'd met me previously, though I have no recollection of such a meeting. And I mean, really, what are the chances I wouldn't remember meeting a girl?

Several of us went out to eat that evening at Mister Bean's Barbecue, owned by professional boxer Butterbean. He was there so we got to meet him. Normally I'm not a fan of people named after vegetables, i.e. Carrot Top, but Mister Bean seemed like a really nice guy.

Coincidentally, we'd been talking earlier in the day about the most famous person we'd ever met. Jamie's was Jimmy Carter, LJ settled on Jose Canseco, and mine was Faith Hill. I feel safe in saying none of those rankings changed after our visit to Mister Bean's.

After supper, we came back and swam a bit more. That's when the idea of jumping off the roof of Jamie's dock crossed my mind. I asked her if anyone had ever done that. She said a couple of people had, but that it was a bit tricky getting up there. You either had to stand on the railing of the pier and pull yourself up, or climb up the ladder of the slide and step across about a four-foot gap to the roof. I opted for the latter, or ladder.

It was a bit tenuous getting from the slide to the roof, but jumping off was worth the risk. You know, because I'm 34 and apparently still amused by the same things as a 16 year old.

I kept trying to get LJ to jump, but he was quite hesitant, claiming since he was shorter than me, it would be harder for him to get on the roof. Jamie urged him on saying, "Oh come on, Bone will give you a boost up."

Ah, yes, the boost up. That most ancient and reliable of methods for hoisting a human being skyward. The boost up is performed by clasping one's hands together in a virtually unbreakable grip, then turning them upside down like a stirrup. The climber puts his/her foot into the hands of the booster-upper and is lifted to higher ground.

It is unclear who invented the boost up. Some think Noah gave his wife a boost up into the ark. Others say no, that the ark had that big handicapped-accessible ramp. They surmise that perhaps Aaron gave the first boost up when Moses planted a dusty sandal in his brother's hands to get started up Sinai.

However it began, the boost up has endured for ages. I don't remember anyone ever teaching me how to do the boost up, it just seems I've always known. Maybe it's as instinctive as survival, blinking, or turning the channel whenever a Pauly Shore movie comes on. Someone needs to get somewhere vertically, there are no ladders or footholds around, your hands automatically go into position.

With the knuckles acting as a locking mechanism, not allowing the hands to slip apart, the boost up is virtually foolproof. I've never seen one fail.

I mean, think about it. Have you ever heard of someone getting injured and when you ask what happened they say, "Well, Bill was trying to give me a boost up, but it just didn't work?"

I didn't think so.

Anyway, after I had jumped about four or five times Saturday, LJ finally decided to give it a go. He stood on the rail of the pier while I proffered a trusty stirrup. And while the story would probably be a bit more entertaining if there had been a mishap, that did not happen. My friend clambered onto the roof, the beneficiary of another successful boost up.

Accidents happen. Ladders fall, feet slip, people go hunting with Dick Cheney. But the boost up never fails.

That's pretty much it for my weekend. I'm not sure what's on tap for next weekend, but after watching Scott Baio tonight, there may be a cuddle party in my near future.

"Man, it's a hot one, like seven inches from the mid-day sun..."

What we leave behind

When I first heard about Anna Nicole, I didn't believe it. Then I read the story on google news. She had become a laughingstock in recent years, the butt of a thousand jokes. But when I read she had died, I was only sad.

I sent the link to a friend. She wrote back, "Have no idea why that makes me sad."

I replied, "Me too. What a sad, tragic, short, wasted life :("

Then almost before I hit send, I questioned my statement. Was it a wasted life? After all, she was a model, an actress, had her own reality show, and married a billionaire. I haven't come close to doing any of those things. Maybe she had the full life, and I'm the one with the wasted life.

If I never become a writer, will my life have been wasted? If I never have children, or never get married?

What constitutes a wasted life? Or for that matter, what constitutes a wasted day? Or a wasted hour? I can't answer that. I guess everyone's answer would be different. And perhaps that's the way it should be.

Is it about finding happiness and contentment? Experiencing as many new and fun things as possible? Or making a difference, making the world a better place? Even typing that, I already know what I think most important. So why am I not doing it?

If I sit home tonight and cook dinner and watch The Office on TV, is that a wasted night? I mean, it's something I enjoy. But should I be doing something more productive? Something to better myself or something beneficial to society?

Traveling Chica wrote a post a few weeks ago about 'someday.' About how we make plans and always seem to think and behave as if we have plenty of time, when in reality, we may not. We're not guaranteed a certain number of years, or even another month, or week. All we have is today.

Yet knowing that, why don't I value each second as the priceless commodity it is? Why do I often go weeks or months without talking to or seeing friends? Why do I find myself so many nights realizing it's 11:00 and wondering where the evening went and what I did with it?

The question isn't will I die? But rather, will I live?

I was talking to another friend about Anna Nicole later in the afternoon. She posed the question, "Do you think she was ever happy?"

Of course, there's no way I could ever know the answer to that. But even the thought that she, or anyone, might never have been happy deeply saddened me. To the point that I changed the subject, not wanting to think about it anymore.

When I die, I don't care so much if other people say or think, "what a wasted life." As long as I don't agree.

"They said she died easy of a broken heart disease. I listened thru the cemetery trees..."